Page 34 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
Cecile eyed the mountain of dresses that had already been discarded upon the bed and with a groan of distress, Emma shoved the gowns aside and sat glaring at the calotype. Having tried nearly every dress she owned, she was now at a loss. And truth to tell, she’d never felt more like weeping than she did at the instant—although precisely why she felt like weeping she could not fathom. In effect, this decision had been made long, long ago. Clearly he hadnotchanged his mind, so why should she care what he thought of her dress?
Cecile lifted up for Emma’s scrutiny a lovely bottle-green gown, trimmed with blond lace. “How about this one?”
Emma sighed and shook her head, feeling like a wayward child. “No.”
“Perhaps he’s changed his mind?” Cecile suggested, as she searched diligently through the wardrobe for another suitable gown. “I could let you borrow the velvet plum…”
Emma glanced up and frowned. “I don’t want him to change his mind.” And the velvet plum was far too lovely… it wouldn’t do.
Really, it was better to have discovered sooner, rather than later, just how inconstant her betrothed could be. That he had spared her the scandal as long as he had in light of her father’s illness and death she was grateful for, but all else about the man rankled—everything, down to the fact that he’d chosen the holidays to invade her life once more.
Emma was certain he couldn’t care one whit how she fared for not once in nearly three years had he enquired after her well being. He had never even bothered to give her a choice in the matter of her future—or the courtesy of an explanation. He’d simply left her wondering all this time, waiting for a public announcement that was certain to ruin her life—well, she was tired of waiting. She wanted it to be over.
Now.
Lord! She had been such a silly little girl full of silly dreams, but no more. She had mistakenly believed that because her father and mother had found love, and her dear brother Andrew had found it with his lovely wife, Cecile, that she, too, could—and would—find love as well. Even more foolish yet… she had truly believed she might find love withhim—that blackguard who had already left a trail of broken hearts!
As for that article in the Times… Emma learned only after bedeviling her brother thatThe Timeshad printed a scandalous account of his involvement with one of Queen Victoria’s Ladies in Waiting. Apparently, there was a suspected out-of-wedlock pregnancy that most people assumed had been conceived by the duke of Willyngham. As it turned out, the poor woman simply suffered from an illness, but it said quite enough that the entire lot of them—except apparently, Queen Victoria—were willing to blame it upon the duke so readily. No doubt he had manipulated the Queen with that rogue smile of his! Well, thankfully, the Queen was newly married now and hopefully immune to the charms of the Duke of Willyngham! Emma, for one, was determined to guard her heart at all cost. “That man is as cold as Newgale in winter!” she swore.
“He must have had something to recommend him for your father to hold him in such high esteem?”
Emma glanced at the calotype, glowering at it. “Whatever that might be,” she said. “How dare he simply appear now of all times!” With merely four days remaining until Christmas, his presence was bound to cast a pall over the entire occasion.
“It’s possible he’s changed his mind,” Cecile offered once more.
Emma gave her sister in law a censuring glance. “Really, Cecile, I wouldn’t marry that man now if I were dying and he held the only keys to Heaven.”
“Tsk.” Cecile admonished, and shook her head with disgust over the gown she held in her hand. She tossed it upon the bed, not bothering to offer it for Emma’s consideration.
“Oh, yes! That one,” Emma exclaimed, leaping up from the bed.
If he wanted indifference, so be it. She vowed to be as dispassionate as he seemed to be. The very last thing she intended to do was to dress to please the cad. Seizing the gown Cecile had tossed away, she made her mind up at last, nodding with satisfaction as she held it before herself in the looking glass. “Yes, this one will do quite nicely,” she declared, looking past the calotype. “Sorry Papa.”
“Hmmm?” Distracted, Cecile turned to look at her and then, spying the gown she held in her hand, exclaimed in dismay, “Oh, Emma!” She scrunched her nose. “Not that one, please!”
“Yes, this one,” Emma said stubbornly, and smiled.
“Oh, my dear, puce does not suit you at all!”
“Precisely,” Emma said. “And I’ve never cared much for the gown, besides. It’s ugly. The buttons are too big and the bosom much too snug. But that’s entirely the point, isn’t it?”
Cecile’s face screwed, clearly not understanding. She looked at Emma as though Emma had gone completely off her head, and then heaved a sigh, telling Emma, without so much as a word how thoroughly she disapproved of her choice and went straight out the door, closing it, shaking her head and leaving Emma to brood all alone.
Plum, puce; it was all the same, really—she’d like to see the duke wear plum, in fact—plum pie right in the face! The thought of it, childish as it was, made her smile a little.
It took Emma at least another full half hour, and a dozen glimpses into the looking glass, before she felt confident enough to leave her room. But once she did, she felt more than prepared to face the duke of Willyngham at long last.
As expected, she found the fiend ensconced in the library with Andrew, the door slightly ajar as they spoke in low tones behind it. She stood for an instant, bracing herself for the worst, and overheard him saying, “I assure you, Peters, I have not changed my mind.”
“Willyngham… have you given the least thought as to how this may appear to others?”
“It’s for the best,” the duke insisted.
Even as she told herself it didn’t matter, Emma’s heart twisted a little at his words.
“I had hoped with time—”
Emma didn’t wait to hear any more.
